


Cannibal

by DarthFucamus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Graphic Violence, Knives, Menstrual blood, OFC POV, Oral Sex on Period, Period Sex, Road Head, Rough Sex, Smoking, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Waffle House, blowjob, dead bodies, graphic descriptions of period oral sex, graphically violent thoughts, lucas pov, lurking, murderer POV, so so much blood, sorry mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: Lucas enjoys a night out on the town when one of his intended victims ends up becoming quite a bit more.----please read the tags and be aware that this is a fucked up fic.





	Cannibal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyLadySnackCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/gifts).



> This is disgusting and deplorable. That's your final warning ;)

### Lucas

Eveline needed more moldy fucks, and Lucas wanted an excuse to get out the house. It was a nice night, loud with swamp life even this late in the year, but otherwise peaceful. Better than having to hear Jack argue with Marguerite. She could hold her own better than she used to when the old man had a few too many, but Lucas sometimes still caught himself almost calling her ‘mamma’ in instinctive moments of concern.

She’d be fine. Things were different now, and better in more ways than not, usually. Lucas observed as much as he could, like he was supposed to, but sometimes he needed to take a night for himself, and the fucks at Umbrella could come suck his dick personally if they had something to say about it. Tonight, Lucas would play the part of a good ‘uncle’ or ‘brother’ or whatever and get Evie what she wanted. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun on the way.

He'd been waiting for only an hour in the parking lot outside the shithole club off the highway, but he was enjoying the fresh air and the rare distance from his family.

There wasn't much in this part to accommodate crowds that liked something besides country crap, but Tuesday nights at Leonard’s bar was reserved for heavier music.  A row of motorcycles were parked in the spots right in front of the building with blacked-out windows. A lamp post on the sidewalk over there shone down on a group of smokers huddling by the entrance. Tonight, a few local punk bands were slated, nothing good, but he wasn’t too picky about the music.

Lucas watched them from where he was parked and absently jostled the 4 oz glass bottle in his hoodie pocket. Liquid sloshed inside it.

He was feeling impatient. There was a tightness in his muscles that needed a productive, or satisfying, outlet. Inside of him, something stirred at the promise of a payoff. It didn’t control him anymore, but he liked to feed it all the same. It made for a more harmonious symbiosis. If he denied it for too long, it came out in ways that were unpleasant, even for him.

People came outside in the space between music sets, and Lucas got a measure of the unsuspecting group by the entrance. A pair of girls walked off to make a phone call, and the crowd inside the door was only getting louder.

Maybe the girls. But women were always harder, being more naturally prey-minded and observant (unless drunk), so he’d only go for that if no other options presented themselves. He was never that good at talking to females.

Maybe because he was a creepy looking asshole, standing against his truck in the darkness at the front edge of the parking lot. He got a couple of disinterested glances from the girls, and in the interest of not looking too suspicious, he fished around in the back pocket of his khakis for the pack of smokes he kept on him for just such occasions.

The nicotine didn’t do anything for him, like everything else that used to be fun before Eveline gave him something better, but normal people didn’t just stand still. They fidgeted with things, played on their phones, whatever. Now he looked like maybe he was waiting for someone.

Technically, he was.

He may not have ever participated before, but Lucas was definitely interested in the people this kind of music attracted. They tended to get fucked up, and had an almost nihilistic view on life that made them fun to watch.

He just needed one to isolate themselves and he could really enjoy himself.

He wasn’t going to get it with the smokers, though, they always moved in groups. And the girls were coming back, rejoining the larger clump by the door. He could hear the next band warming up, doing sound tests, and like a dinner bell, anyone with a glowing smoke left stubbed them out and trickled back inside. There weren’t really any stragglers, unfortunately. He was patient, though. Lucas took a deep, relaxed breath to sooth the tightness in his chest, and watched them rejoin the buzzing crowd inside with mild envy.

But not everyone was going inside to hear the next band go on.

Someone was shoving their way through the small throng to get outside. One person, he noted with interest. A girl, alone and vulnerable. His stomach fluttered, but died like a moth in its death throes as Lucas quashed whatever automatic urge the idea of being alone with a female inspired in him.

She seemed anxious, looking back inside past the people lingering inside the doorway. Lucas watched her, and sucked a lungful of smoke. The door to the club swung shut behind her, cutting her off from the inside. His heart pumped, his gut stirred.

He took a deep breath of the cold, humid air to soothe the monster. He still had to be careful, she was scanning her surroundings, alert. Her eyes landed on him. He smoothed his thumb over the glass bottle in his pocket and tried to look like he wasn’t watching her.

To his surprise, she started coming toward him. Maybe to ask for a smoke. He smiled inwardly. Good idea, to smoke. It offered an immediate in. Opened the possibility of trust. Got him close enough to do what he needed to do. It was a little strange, though, the way she was acting.

Her long, fishnet-clad legs went all the way up to her short black skirt. Her stomach showed under the top, which he could see through the open front of her oversized black hoodie, jumbled with sewn-on patches. DIY spikes on the hood, down around her neck, shone when she passed under a lamp post.

She was pretty, though hard to see under her overgrown bangs. His stomach twitched, and wasn’t so easily quieted this time.

“Hey man,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Hi,” Lucas said with a weird half-wave of his cigarette hand. He took a drag.

“You have a phone on you? I need to call a cab,” she said, trying to get a better look at his face.

“No, sorry,” Lucas said, looking down a little more. She mouthed a curse and glanced over her shoulder.

“You got another smoke, then?” she asked. It seemed like she was expecting to see something suddenly appear there in the bare stretch of asphalt between her and the sidewalk by the front door.

“Yeah,” he answered with a fake smile, not that she noticed. Something was on her mind, and Lucas was barely a blip on her radar. She was plainly appreciative when he pulled one out and handed it to her, but when she smiled and said ‘thanks,’ her eyes looked right through him.

His fingers brushed hers, and he felt something in him jump. Considering his ‘ _impulse control problems_ ,’ he needed to take care of this one quick before he fucked it up.

“You waitin’ for someone?” Lucas asked, getting a subtle idea of the figure, weight and build, she was hiding under her bulky jacket while he lit her up with his little butane lighter. Her eyes searched him, confused for a split second.

“No,” she answered, tending to her smoke so it caught the flame. Didn’t feel much like talking, it seemed. Didn’t bother Lucas, she’d just told him everything he needed to know. He carefully rearranged the items in his hoodie pocket, pulling the folded handkerchief out from under the glass bottle, positioned it on top.

“You like this band?” she asked with a nod toward the club where the night’s headliner was spelled out in those movable letters. Lucas knew he probably stood out in this kind of crowd. They didn’t tend to wear khakis. He shrugged.

“Nah, not this local pigshit,” he answered with his cigarette pinched between his lips. In his pocket, he kept his hand still while his fingers started unscrewing the lid on the bottle. She didn’t even seem to notice. This was going to be so fucking easy. “You?”

She snorted lightly, letting smoke out of her nostrils. She had a thin black ring in one side.

“The musicI like doesn’t come to this toilet,” she said with a dissatisfied sigh. She glanced back at the club entrance, but with less concern this time. Lucas eyeballed the patches stitched haphazardly to the back of her jacket, some of which he recognized. “This is where good things come to die.”

Lucas chuckled a little at that, he couldn’t help it. The irony was beautiful.

“Ya got that right.” Inside his pocket, he held the handkerchief over the partially unscrewed glass bottle. He started to tilt the bottle to pour some chloroform onto the cloth, all without taking it out of the pocket, something he was fairly good at by now.

Suddenly, the muffled music exploded through the open club entrance, blasting machine-gunning percussion and discordant vocals into the relatively quiet air. Lucas twisted the bottle lid back on real quick.

“Shit,” the girl hissed under her breath. She took another step backwards toward Lucas and almost bumped into him, something he couldn’t help but notice. As for the cause of her nervousness, Lucas would guess it was the ponytailed biker rolling through the doorway. He looked like he was in his late 30s, sweaty and shirtless under his black leather vest. He staggered with drunken, but determined focus in their direction.

“I fuckin’ found yew!” he slurred, pointing at her. He might have been drunk, but he looked heavy, and angry enough to be a threat. Lucas watched his approach with guarded interest.

“Why the _fuck’d_ ya run away for? We were just talkin’ baby girl, that was a rude thing you did walkin’ off like that when I was buyin you a drink.”

Lucas glanced at her, and instead of shrinking away from the other guy, her spine straightened tensely.

“I ain’t interested,” she snapped.

“Fuckin’ sluts, am I righ’?” the greasy man shouted with a leer toward Lucas, as if Lucas would agree with him. The guy didn’t wait for Lucas to say anything. “They dress up like that and get mad when ya notice. I’m jus’ tryin’ to talk to ya honey, you ain’t gotta be a fuckin’ bitch about it.”

Lucas debated between interfering or letting them take care of their own business. He thought he might be able to take him, and then the girl would be easier after that. Eveline would pee herself with joy when he came back with two instead of one.

He felt like playing around a little with them first, though.

“This man givin’ you trouble, Delilah?” Lucas asked, eyeballing the guy. She looked like a Delilah. She didn’t respond immediately, but he saw the moment it clicked.

“Yeah, baby,” she answered, applying a sweet lilt to her voice that made Lucas’s groin tighten. To the other guy, she said, “I’m here with my boyfriend. Take a fucking hint.”

“You little goddamn liar, you don’t know who the fuck he is,” he said, jerking aggressively toward her. She shrank back, startled. Lucas observed the man’s malicious enjoyment of her fear with abstract curiosity. It was like watching a caveman in a documentary.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” she said, more desperate. Her cute face was pinched with distress as she looked desperately to Lucas. Sure, okay. He’ll play the white knight, for now.

“She’s mine,” Lucas said, turning to face him with his shoulders thrown back. The other guy wasn’t taller, but he was heavier.

“Bullshit,” he said, jabbing a finger in Lucas’s direction and baring his teeth through his PBR-soaked beard. “I’m gonna kick your ass. And then I’m gonna give your _girl_ what she’s askin for.”

Lucas pulled his cigarette out of his mouth. And on a whim, he flicked it onto the other guy’s shoes.

Some kind of liquor must have spilled on his boot because it lit up like a tiki torch when the glowing cherry hit the toe.

Suddenly, he was falling all over the place, hollering and stomping his flaming boot in a sort of frantic two-step. Lucas couldn’t hold back the laughter while the guy did his dance. He had to brace against his knees, hooting and gasping for breath until he thought he was going to puke. He heard the girl laugh, too, a shocked kind of belly laugh. When he could catch his breath, he looked over at her.

He liked how her eyes lit up and crinkled when she smiled. She flashed a chipped front tooth, maybe an artifact of one mosh pit too many, and Lucas found it beguiling, even distracting. She was pretty, even when her brows popped up in surprise at something over Lucas’s shoulder.

He turned to see what is was a second before the fist smashed into his jaw and nearly knocked his eyeball out of the socket.

Lucas hit the ground hard. Stars shimmered in the darkness around the edge of his vision. He heard her laughter cut off and then she was shouting, angry. The deep male voice bellowed an insult, and maybe a slurred threat, but it was farther away. A blast of music alerted the opening of the club entrance before it was stifled again.

Lucas’s jaw was on fire, the kind of pain that pierced right to the center of his brain and shot down his spine part way. With one cheek on the ground, he pushed himself up slightly, cupping his chin. The angle of the hinge joint part was all wrong, and his lower teeth were completely askew. The fucker had dislocated his goddamn jaw with that hit.

His eye, no doubt peripherally injured by the punch, started to clear, and he could see a figure approaching. Lucas held his jaw stationary as he grabbed onto the side of the truck and pulled himself slowly upright. Every movement made his face hurt, but he could already feel the gift writhing under the surface, trying to repair the damage.

### Delilah

She held onto the truck for balance as she forced herself to breathe, finally. Then she remembered her savior, laying flat out on the cracked asphalt next to his front tire. He was already starting to get off the ground.

“Hey man, I’m real sorry about that, I didn’t think he was actually gonna hit you.”

When he managed to push himself into an upright sitting position, his hood had fallen back, showing short hair and a high hairline. His face was angular, but a corner of jawbone jutted out under the skin unnaturally. He blinked slowly, like he was dazed, and she now saw how his lower teeth were slightly askew like perhaps it'd been knocked out of joint.

“Oh fuck. Shit, dude, hold on, I'll go get you some help.”

There was a muffled pop, which she almost didn’t hear over the drumbeat pouring out of the cracked club door.

“Nah, no need fer any o’ that,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. He’d pulled his hood back up and was rubbing his jaw which, from what she could see, didn't actually look as bad as she'd first thought, except for the nasty bruising. Weird. “Ain't the first time my sense o’ humor’s gone unappreciated.”

She snorted despite herself. He was kind of weird, but funny.

“Man, thanks for all that,” she said, looking him over again, trying to see what kind of body he was hiding under his Louisiana Christian School hoodie. He didn't fit in with the punks, but he didn’t seem like the god-fearing type either. “That was some quick thinkin’ with the Delilah thing.”

The guy spit a dark-clotted loogy onto the ground and grinned at her, his teeth pink with blood.

“Y’mean that ain'tcher name?”

She laughed too loud, still shot through with adrenaline from the confrontation.

“It's as good as any, I guess.” At the moment he was eyeing the club entrance, and fidgeting with something heavy in his pocket. There was an unnerving quality to his expression that gave her pause, but he was probably still pissed about that punch. He was taking it better than she would have expected. “You like punk?”

“Some, Ah guess. I ain’t here for the music, though,” he answered evasively. Whatever he was fucking with inside his pocket was sloshing around like liquid, maybe a small liquor bottle. She was about to ask what he was there for when he said, “you wanna ride, Lilah? Seein’ as how you were gonna call a cab an’ all.”

He was sweet. And despite taking a really hard punch only a few minutes ago, tougher than she would have expected. She saw how he was trying to flirt with her and it was kind of cute, but just a little too shy boy-next-door for her. She tried to find the best way to reject him without hurting his feelings or seeming unappreciative.

“Look, I’m grateful for what you did an’ all uhm…”

“Lucas,” he said. She smiled sweetly.

“Lucas. Thanks. That guy was an asshole, and he hit you pretty hard. You sure you’re okay?”

“Nah, it’s nothin’. I take a hit pretty well,” he said, scuffing his shoe on the pavement and fidgeting inside his pocket. Why didn’t he just drink whatever was in there instead of messing around with it? It was clear that he was shy, perhaps not very good with women. She felt bad for him, but not enough to give him a pity fuck. It was off the menu tonight, anyway.

“Okay. Well, uh… I really appreciate It and all, but I think I’m just gonna use the public phones over there,” she pointed to the side of the building where ‘phone’ could be seen in bold white letters on the side of what must have been some of the last payphones still in use. The guy named Lucas took a drag on his cigarette, unreadable. Even after a couple beers, something about him made her want to give him the side eye. Normal people wouldn’t have provoked a big dude like that, and this guy hadn’t given it a second though. Still, Lucas had manage to distract him and had taken a hit for her. But that didn’t mean he was an angel. Who skulked around in parking lots at night?

“Thanks, Lucas, for what ya did. It was real nice of you.”

“Sure.”

“Well... you take care now,” she said, smiling. She cleared her throat and started to walk away when he didn’t answer.

She glanced back to see that he stayed right where he was, leaning against his car. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all. Just a nice, socially awkward guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or, maybe he was a drug dealer.

She nodded to herself as she reached the payphones, just out of the light from the street lamp on the sidewalk around the corner. Definitely a drug dealer.

### Lucas

He must’ve come on too strong, or was too nice, or something. Lucas pulled a fresh cigarette out of his pocket, needing something, anything, to distract from his pent up frustration. Yeah, it was probably the wrong balance of niceness. Girls were so fucking complicated.

At least she’d made it easier for him to grab her, dumb bitch.

He’d have to come in fast, before she caught on, and before someone else came outside and saw. He decided to finish his cigarette, though, to give her mind a chance to move on to other things. So, he followed her figure with his eyes. She had nice legs.

After another puff, he was about to put out the butt when the black painted doors of the entrance cracked open, broadcasting thrash punk into the autumn night. Lucas growled to himself. He’d missed his chance, and might not get another one that was as fucking sweet. He’d had his heart set on that girl in particular, too.

A pair of guys came out. The asshole from before, and it looked like he’d brought a friend from the inside. They even had matching leather vests, how sweet. They weren’t coming out to smooch, though, looked like they had another goal in mind. It was confirmed when they caught sight of Delilah disappearing around the corner to make her precious phone call.

A thrill flared in Lucas’s lower gut. Doing violence was better, but that didn’t mean he got a little pumped to see it unfold in front of him. Like a movie, he watched the two guys, beers in hand, go after her. They were loud, and drunk, and Lucas heard the intent clearly, echoing over the asphalt and against the empty cars in the lot behind him. Apparently, Hotfoot felt that Delilah owed him new boots, and if she didn’t pay up, he was going to make her pay some other way. She hadn’t noticed them yet, but she would momentarily.

Lucas made some calculations in his head, based on an estimate that the current band would be playing for another half hour or so. As they were the headliner, and no one had left yet, he suspected that most people would stay through the set, even the smokers. He judged the builds of the two guys, and their weak spots. They were drunk, so even if it made them meaner, it made them slower and stupider, too. And last, he tried to come up with a rough figure for how long he’d have after snapping their necks that Delilah would lose her shit.

Three bodies was better than two, or one.

Delilah was shouting at them. She was angry and scared, no doubt trying to get Lucas’s attention as the only other person outside right now. Inside of him, spite twisted. Served her right for turning him down. But, still… Lucas opened the door of his battered pickup and rummaged around behind the driver’s seat. His hands closed around cold steel.

She was pleading, apologizing, cussing at them, in that order. Lucas made sure that his hood was up, that the front door of the club was still closed, and walked over. He was going to be a gentleman. He’d come to her rescue, and then he’d make her number three for the evening before she had a chance to realize exactly what he was.

Ponytail dude was trying to grab her where she’d managed to pin herself against the brick wall on the side.

She threw something at them, a glass bottle off the ground,  and it popped and shattered at his feet. Lucas laughed at her gall, and flexed his hand around the iron bar, enjoying how much trouble she was giving them. Ponytail, who really didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, backhanded her.

Lucas covered the last stretch with a quick stride. He met her eyes over the nearest neanderthal’s shoulder. Ponytail’s friend was wearing a blue bandana tied around his sweaty, greasy scalp.

Lucas swung the corner of the L-shaped tire iron at that blue target.

It made a sweet whistling noise before it connected to bone with a dense, metallic thud. Giddy power flooded Lucas’s muscles, and the pit of his stomach trembled.

The biker’s entire body shuddered with the impact, and one of his legs nearly buckled. Bleary-eyed the man turned to look at Lucas, slow on the uptake. Ponytail, in the middle of an abusive verbal spew was just starting to realize something was happening behind him.

Lucas wound it up like a batter, and unable to stifle a snarl of glee, he cracked the fucker on his face. Delicate nasal bones caved, blood burst like a popped tick all over his face, and splattered Lucas’s hands.

Bandana started screaming, hitting a higher pitch than Lucas expected to hear, before the tire iron struck him in the throat and shut him up.

Lucas hit him again, hard enough to feel the impact up to his shoulders, and this time he went down. It was wetter sounding this time.

Ponytail lunged for Lucas, blanking out in a blind rage. His fist cracked Lucas’s side, but Lucas was braced this time and didn’t go down. Instead, he sucked in air through his teeth to force himself past the pain of a couple of cracked ribs, then he brought the tire iron down on the crown of the other man’s head.

The hit wasn’t as solid as Lucas wanted, but the guy swayed to the side, stunned. His friend was rolling around on the ground, making a coughing, gurgling noise as blood from his face flowed into his mouth and was inhaled.

Lucas’s lungs swelled and his skin tingled. Adrenaline laced every one of his senses, gave a blurry edge to everything, made time slow down a little bit.

Drool tickled his chin as it rolled down and he swiped it away with his sleeve. He couldn't help that his mouth watered when he saw raw meat. It was a Pavlovian response to more than a year of conditioning to eat _whatever_ was put in front of him, no matter what, or who, it came from.

The power surged in his veins as he filled his lungs with the scent of blood, and piss. The smell of fear.

He hit the other man again, and this time the smaller part of the L, the part with the bolt wrench, went right into his eye socket. There was no resistance.

He grunted, like he was surprised, then swayed on his knees. Lucas literally saw the moment the light went out of his remaining eye and his face muscles fell slack. But like a pig on a pole, he was stuck where the tool was embedded.

Lucas planted a foot on the man’s side, and pushed him over to dislodge him. The metal came out with a moist sucking sound, and the corpse tipped sideways and smacked the pavement. There was bits of brain and chips of bone stuck on the end of the bent iron rod, and Lucas looked at the way it glistened in the indirect light for a second before he wiped it on the guy’s pants.

The other one was still alive, but not for long. Blood-slicked hands convulsed and grasped blindly at the ground while he tried to breathe through his ruined mouth. Lucas shook out his neck muscles and pushed down the latent desire to sink his teeth into fresh meat, meat that was still warm. The urge to do just that hissed at him from the darkness in his brain.

A soft noise, like a shuddering gasp, made him look up. The girl was standing huddled against the brick wall, gaping at his handiwork. Shit, he’d near forgotten about her in the heat of the moment. She was in shock, for now, but he didn’t know how long before he would need to quiet her.

Lucas wiped the drool off his chin, tried to think of what to say, maybe to buy time.

“I ahhhh...” Lucas started. He looked down at his blood-spattered hands. “Oops?”

The one with his face smashed in twitched on the ground whimpered, and then went limp, unconscious.

She took a couple steps forward, looking down at them, transfixed.

Lucas found her behavior curious. People reacted to extreme shock in different ways. There were the predictable ones, fainting and emptying the bladder, but it also showed in weirder ways sometimes. Once a guy had sat there after losing all but one of his fingers in a game of 21, just staring at his ruined stumps and laughing.

Lucas tucked the bloody tire iron under his arm and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the mostly full pack of camels and offered her one. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Is… is he…” she stammered.

“Soon,” he said, pulling a smoke out of the pack, and popping it between his lips. He cupped a bloody hand around the flame to light it, and then plucked it out and handed it to her.

She hesitated before extending a trembling hand to accept the cigarette, oblivious to the blood on it. She brought it to her lips, right where his had been a second ago, and immediately took a long drag. She was staring at the two men on the ground again, pale with shock, eyes huge. Lucas sighed. She really was cute.

He didn’t want to smash her up. He’d use the chloroform like he meant to at first, nice and easy, keep that pretty face in one piece, at least until the mold took it over or it was served up for dinner some night.

Lucas stared at her, waiting for the second when the panic kicked in and the screaming started. He absently stroked the bottle of chloroform in his hoodie pocket.

Her eyes moved over Lucas, lingered on the weapon dripping blood and staining his clothes, dark and wet.

Here it came.

But, she didn’t panic. Instead, the gears were turning in her distant stare.

“Maybe you oughtta call the cops or somethin’,” he suggested, teasing out a reaction. She took a few deep, shaking breaths.

“Fuck that.” Her round, dark eyes fixed on his and sent a surge of something hot and delicious straight to the base of his spine. Lucas pulled his hand out of his pocket and let it hang at his side, twitchy. No need for that just yet.

“We gotta hide the body,” she said finally, holding the cigarette limply at her side. Under her shaggy bangs, her eyebrows drew tight in the middle. “Before anyone sees him.”

Lucas’s gut tightened, and suddenly his dick was at half mast. He adjusted himself before she noticed.

“Yeah… yer prob’ly right,” he said carefully, still waiting for the delayed realization to hit her. But there was no change, no switch flipped.

“You got a tarp or anything in your car?” she said, looking past him.

Lucas couldn’t help but smirk at that. He knew he should take care of her, cover his tracks, but he realized that he wanted to see where this was going more than he wanted to play it safe.

“Hey, yeah,” he said, snapping his fingers like he hadn't brought one folded up in the back of his truck just for this purpose. “Shit, well uh… I think I jus’ might.”

He looked at her face closely to decide if she was the type to run the minute his back was turned. She was shaken, but he didn’t see the blind animal panic that preceded erratic fear behavior. She just stared at the one who was still alive and took a long drag on her cigarette like she just remembered she was holding it.

### Delilah

God, there was so much blood, and it was on the pavement, too. The biker had pissed himself, either from being drunk, or from being beaten. Something hot and wild writhed in her belly at that realization. A tooth was lying on the ground by her foot.

She decided she didn’t want to be alone with them.

She caught a bit of amusement on his face when she stayed by him on the way to the truck. His weird calmness and lack of apparent concern was somehow reassuring, even though she knew she should have been terrified of him after what he’d just done. He wasn’t exactly what she would consider intimidating, though. Lanky, socially awkward...  well, less now than before, that was for sure. She’d seen something come alive in his face when he was hitting those bikers. Something that scared her, but in a very specific way. And now, wearing the blood of the guys that had harassed her… she shivered in the cool air.

He’d left the door to his truck hanging open, and he just tossed the bloody tire iron in the back. She kept shooting furtive looks to the club entrance, ready any moment for the crowd to come outside and see the two dead men. Would they make a quick getaway in that case? By the looks of the old rust bucket on wheels, she wasn’t sure it would go anywhere fast.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly realizing she'd never said anything. He peered back over his shoulder.

“You in trouble with the cops or something?” he asked, returning his to the junk behind the front seats. She heard what sounded like glass bottles, planks of wood, and various and sundry other crap. A roll of duct tape fell out onto the ground and he snatched it up quick.

“I'm on probation,” she answered, not really wanting to go into it more. He made a noise to the affirmative and straightened out, tugging a folded up blue tarp out with him.

“Well it ain't nothin’. I will not tolerate men that hit ladies. World's better off without ‘em if ya ask me.”

“Well aren’t you the fuckin gentleman,” she said, eyeing the brown bottle poking out of his pocket. It didn’t look like liquor.

“An’ they say chivalry’s dead,” he answered with a contextually inappropriate wink, shutting the door behind him. He had two pairs of latex gloves in his hand.

Together they crossed the parking lot. She had to scramble to keep up with his long stride. He worked quickly to unfold the tarp next to the bodies. He threw her a pair of the gloves and then pulled his on. As Delilah watched him, she knew with chill certainty that he’d done this before.

He grabbed one of them by the shoulder, Delilah didn’t wait to be asked. She just took hold of the black boots. They smelled like urine, and she was glad to have the gloves. She caught him smiling strangely at her for a split second before they were both occupied hefting the dead weight onto the tarp.

By the time they moved to the second one, she was a little out of breath, but Lucas hadn’t even broken a sweat. Delilah could see blood still pumping sluggishly out of the red mess, unrecognizable as a face. He was still alive. She hoped it hurt.

Suddenly, around the front of the building, punk music blasted loud as the entrance was opened. Both of them froze with the guy bleeding out in their hands. Lucas cleared his throat, and nodded toward the tarp. Lilah took the cue and hurriedly they dropped him on there, half stacked on his dead friend. Lucas peeled off his bloody gloves and dropped them on top of the guy. Then rolled the edge of the tarp over them like a burrito.

Lilah thought quick and sat down on the rolled tarp like it was a fallen log, and by the time someone came around the corner, She had her legs crossed, one arm propped next to her on the soft, lumpy rolled tarp. Lucas had positioned himself to face against the building like he was taking a leak.

It was a couple of guys and a girl, and they barely spared the two of them a look.

Lucas and Lilah watched them stumble off through the parking lot, presumably on their way home.

“We gotta hurry,” Lucas said, zipping his fly. She thought he’d been faking it. Suddenly, she was thinking about his dick. She shook herself out of it.

She stayed where she was, perched on top of the wrapped bodies while Lucas ran out to get the truck. She knew logically that the smartest thing for her would be to just get the fuck out of there while he was distracted. She hadn’t actually hit them, she was just an innocent bystander, right? But she didn’t move. He’d seemed a little surprised, maybe a little impressed when she’d helped him. A brief thought popped into her head. If he was so comfortable enacting violence and hiding the evidence, why did he suggest she call the police?

She didn’t get a chance to think more about it. The beat up pickup truck’s engine rumbled as it pulled up, headlights pointed toward the entrance, hiding them from immediate sight of the front door. He hopped out and dropped the back gate of the bed. And then he dragged the tarp to it. Lilah flitted around him, trying to see if he needed help, but then Lucas bent down, grabbed the tarp in a bear hug, and lifted.

Two men, whose combined weights were probably more than double his, were wrapped in a tarp burrito, and Lucas lifted them like they weighed no more than a sack of grain.

Her heart fluttered, and her breath caught in her throat, and she realized she was staring.

Lucas shut the gate just as the entrance opened again. It sounded like the last band was winding down. More people came out, but no one gave them a second glance.

It was surreal.

“So…” she started, holding onto the side of the truck bed uncertainly. Lucas watched her try to find the words. “That ride still on the table?”

### Lucas

He didn’t even think.

“Yeah, come on.”

He had no idea what he was doing, but as he watched her jog around the front of the truck, spiked hood blazing in the headlights for a split second, he didn’t care. She opened the other door and climbed into the passenger seat

They pulled out of the parking lot just as the crowd inside started to disperse. As the music venue shrank behind them, and then disappeared around a turn, Lucas was aware that they were alone.

Her thighs, wrapped tight in her fishnets, looked smooth and soft. He focused mostly on the road as he made his way back to the highway, but he just couldn’t forget the girl sitting next to him. She was staring out her window, her head draped in a curtain of long hair. There was a fleck of blood on her upper left leg, close to the hem of her little black skirt. Lucas wanted to lick it off. His mouth watered and he swallowed it down, tried to keep his dick soft thinking about anything else.

“So… where are we goin’?” he asked, desperate for some conversation. He didn’t want her to get bored, but the fact that she’d helped him load up the bodies and was still willing to get into the car with him was more than he’d ever expected. She must’ve been near as crazy as him.

“What’re you going to do with them?” she asked without looking at him. Since she didn’t answer him, Lucas decided to take the onramp south. He could drive all night with a honey like this sitting next to him. Part of it was he knew that when it was all over, he’d have to take care of her. He wasn’t ready just yet.

“The gators behind my house’ll get nice n’ fat on them pigs, don’tcha worry a thing about it.”

She was silent. Lucas merged and kept to the center lane, going neither too fast nor too slow to gain any notice from any cops before he chanced a look.

She was staring right at him.

“Yer uh… taking all this pretty well,” Lucas said, trying to choke down the dryness in his throat. He felt the monster lurch inside of him and took a shuddering breath. She didn’t say anything.

But her hand, clenched in her lap, opened and slid over the seat to his leg. Lucas struggled to keep his eyes on the road. What the fuck was she doing?

“Thank you, really,” she said. Lucas watched her wet her lips and licked his own without thinking about it. Hers were all pouty and downturned at the corners. He wondered what they tasted like.

“They got what was comin’ to them,” he said back, heart pounding in his chest. Having a girl look at him like that was exhilarating in a way that was completely different from beating someone to a pulp. Maybe, Lucas dared to think, just maybe he’d hit the jackpot and found him a girl that got turned on by violence.

Her fingers wrapped around his leg and tightened, and he let his thigh twitch open, just a little bit, to accommodate the growing hard-on he was smuggling in his khakis now. God damn but she was smoking hot.

“I’m sorry I turned you down before,” she said. There was a husky quality to her voice that made the blood pool in his groin. Her hand crept to the inside of his thigh, and now he let his legs opened, relaxed. He tried his best to keep his breath steady, but it was so fucking difficult.

“Shit, I’d turn me down too,” he said, cracking a smile. Watching him, her hand moved to his groin, and the erection straining against the zipper. When she squeezed it, she made a small sound in her throat that sounded impressed, and Lucas nearly forgot to breathe. It was his one positive asset, he thought, glad he had that going for him at least.

“I live in Abbeville,” she said. Lucas nodded. He was going in the right direction. Meanwhile, her hand was still tight on his bulging crotch and he was white-knuckling the steering wheel. She continued. “That’s like… what, half an hour away?”

Lucas whimpered when she stroked her hand on him through the fabric of his pants. He tried to hide the sound, but it was a lost cause, because it happened again a second later when she started kneading him steadily.

“We can’t do anything else, but if you promise not to crash us into a ditch, I’ll thank you properly.”

This was a fucking dream. It had to be. It was playing out like a porno, but so much better, because most pornos didn’t start off with a double homicide. He was about to start asking why they couldn’t do anything else when she started fumbling with his button and his fly.

With one hand clamped on the wheel, holding it steady, he helped her by lifting up his hoodie so as not to dump everything out of the pockets, baring his lower stomach. There was blood all over the hoodie, but she didn’t seem to give a fuck. Hell, maybe that was what did it for her. He could relate.

She tugged his zipper down, difficult for how hard his dick was crammed up behind it. Lucas breathed in relief when the pressure and tightness was alleviated. And then she reached in and scooped it out.

The little startled noise she made almost made him nut right then and there, and he swerved slightly before he forced himself to concentrate on the road. He was suddenly concerned with whether he’d shaken it off well enough after peeing on the wall earlier.

She started to lean over, and no matter what he tried to do, he couldn’t stop himself from getting that visual. He didn’t know how far this would go, or if he’d ever get to experience it again, so he slowed down just a little to cast it to memory. In case he needed it to sustain him later. His eyes met hers, peering up at him from under her bangs. She was holding his dick at the base with one hand. The other was still pinched between her fishnet-strangled knees.

Lucas swiped his tongue over his lips, watching her open her mouth and then her face was hidden from view as she positioned it over his cock. He felt her hair fall against his bare lower stomach, and it sent shivers down his thighs. Her breath puffed on the over sensitive head of his cock, and though it was probably body temperature, it felt chill against his hot skin.

He didn’t think he was going to last long. The pressure and heat was building behind his balls and she hadn't as much as licked it yet. He had to try. Years of tight-fisting his dick had to count for something.

He concentrated on the lines on the road, the cars behind him, and beside him, and steeled himself for an onslaught.

He wasn’t prepared for the softness, the wet warmth, and the multiple moving surfaces of the inside of her mouth. Lucas had no defense for the way the gentle suction of her lips and tongue tried to coax that hard knot of pressure out.

She took him deep pretty quickly, and Lucas accidentally bucked his hips, felt the wheel slip. _Get a fuckin hold of yerself, jesus christ Lucas, you piece of shit getittogether,_ he silently berated himself. He tried to think of something, anything, that was the opposite of the warm, wet bliss of Delilah’s sweet little mouth, and the first thing that came to mind was Marguerite.

Disgust twisted in his stomach, and he felt the pressure alleviate somewhat. It had worked, but he _really_ didn’t want to rely on that anytime he thought he was going to lose himself. Now he was concentrating on thinking of anything but his mother, and all that was left was Delilah.

Her mouth was a lot less forceful and efficient than his hand, but holy fuck, it was so much better.

He wished he didn’t have to concentrate on driving, though he couldn’t deny that the added danger of it, not to mention the incriminating evidence in the truck bed, brought a little extra something to the table. If he crashed into the concrete median, He would probably survive (something to test another day, maybe), but at 65 miles per hour, she probably wouldn’t. All this went through his head as Lilah bobbed, taking him deep enough that she gagged herself; another sensation that would be forever burned into his memory, the way her throat muscles spasmed to reject his hard dick and keep it from choking her. It didn’t slow her down, though.

Lucas thought if he could spend the rest of his life with her tender, luscious mouth permanently attached and sucking him off, he would never need to set anyone on fire ever again. It was _that_ _good_.

She was merciless with him, but in a yielding, delicate way. It was so different from what he was used to, it was almost not enough, and maybe that was a good thing. It meant he might last longer, and maybe the payoff would be better for it.

He almost got comfortable, maybe a little overconfident. He started to get relaxed enough that he took the wheel one-handed. Breathing open-mouthed, he rested his other hand atop her head, carefully. He just wanted to touch her soft hair and feel the movements of her head as she sucked his dick.

He got too careless. She stroked the underside of his dick with the tip of her tongue as she pulled it out, and he felt the skin of his sack tighten, the base of his spine liquefy, the hot knot of heat and pressure compress. Then her tongue hit that thin band of skin that connected the underside of his cockhead to his shaft, and dip hard into the furrow to his hole.

Lucas’s hips jerked, his swollen cockhead hit the hard roof of her mouth, and that’s what ended up doing him in.

He felt the pressure overflow and expel in a hot line along the length of his shaft and waves of near-blinding ecstasy as he spilled into her mouth. His long fingers threaded into her hair, and he just barely had the presence of mind not to rip it out of her scalp. He heard himself groan, stuttering with every pulse of his balls as they emptied themselves into the willing vessel.

She stopped sucking so hard, but her hot little kisser stayed right where it was, clamped over him. The flat top of her tongue cushioned the underside of his dick and moved slightly with the motions of her swallowing. She gulped down his jizz with throaty sounds of either disgust or approval, he couldn’t tell. At the moment it didn’t fucking matter.

The waves lessened and subsided, and only then did he realize that the way he’d been sitting, with his pelvis tipped up, had made one of his feet go numb.

He was still regaining his bearings, shifting positions so he could get the blood flowing to his tingling foot again, when movement out of the corner of his eye made him look away from the road. Her other hand, the one that had been pinched between her knees, was tightly clamped between the tops of her thighs now, half-concealed under the bottom of her skirt, and it was moving.

Heat flooded his face and ears when he realized she was touching herself.

“Holy shit, Delilah,” he breathed, swallowing the saliva that had collected in the back of his mouth during the blowjob. “Can I uh…  return the favor’r somethin’?”

The girl sat up quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her forearm. Her eyes were wide, and a little unfocused. Lucas caught a glimpse of glistening fluid leaking from the corner of her mouth and though he was spent, he felt the twinge of tightness in his scrotum that said he'd be ready to go again before too long.

“No,” she muttered, weirdly withdrawn after the intimacy they’d just shared.

Lucas started worrying, then. He couldn’t stop it if he'd tried. Did he say something wrong? Did his spunk taste okay? Well… he knew what it tasted like but whether it was good enough for her, he had no idea. Had he come too soon? Was he too big? Too vocal? Not vocal enough? He suddenly had the urge to tell her how much he appreciated it, and tell her how pretty she was, and ask her if she wanted to stop at a Waffle House… instead he clamped his teeth shut and stuffed his cock back into his pants as quickly as he could, embarrassed suddenly by the exposure.

He needed to say _something_.

“You suck a mean dick,” Lucas said with a leer, as it was the only thing that came to mind. He instantly regretted it. Christ, this was why he never talked to girls, what the fuck kind of thing was that to say? He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her looking at him with a bemused expression. Both hands were on top of her lap again, and if it weren’t for the tingly contentment settling in his belly, it might feel like they hadn’t done anything at all.

“You got anything to drink?” she asked. Shit, of course. Lucas kept his eyes on the road as he reached behind him. He bumped her, and though she didn’t recoil, he felt disgusting, like one of the pigs currently leaking blood and brains all over the bed of his truck. There was nothing for it, though, he'd already let her suck him off.

He pushed aside the sticky tire iron and grabbed one of the cans of Big K Cola from the open box crammed behind his seat. It was only as cold as the interior of the car, but when he handed it to her, she cracked it open immediately and took a swig, swishing it around in her mouth.

Lucas felt the rare shame prickle in his stomach and he quashed it out before it turned into something more malicious. He didn't actually know why, though, when he always relished giving in to his vicious urges before. This felt different, somehow.

In fact, he didn’t know why he’d let this continue for so long. Sure, he’d gotten his dick sucked, which was great, but he was still on his way to her town. He couldn’t chloroform her and bring her back as meat. Even he wasn’t so fucked up as to watch his family eat meat knowing full well his jizz was in her belly. But he couldn’t kill her now, either, which was usually necessary for the mold to take over. He thought it’d be plain rude after how nice she’d been.

So, they sat in silence while Lucas tried to figure out what to do with her.

The exit to Abbeville was coming up. And then he was following it.

“Left,” she said when he got to the end of the off ramp. He went left, avoiding looking at her. If she was going to have to die, he didn’t want to see those big dark eyes again. Of course, at the next right, he accidentally caught her looking at him and it smashed through his fragile barrier of clinical detachment. Fuck. It was just like him to get all mushy after a blowjob, not that he had much experience. He was a 25 year old man, _goddammit_ , not a stupid fucking teenager.

She didn’t speak except to give him directions, and like a robot, Lucas obeyed, all the while trying to think of the easiest way to tie off this loose end.

But the seconds turned into minutes, and after five of those, they were pulling into the dark parking spaces outside her duplex.

Lucas turned off the headlights and then he waited for her to get out. Logically he knew he was going to regret letting this one go. Or, he thought, maybe it wasn’t so bad. He could just change the license plate, or dump the truck completely. She had no idea where he lived, and all she had was his first name. Yeah, this might work out okay...

She still hadn’t gotten out yet, though. Lucas stole a glance. She was rubbing her thighs uncomfortably, maybe nervously, and her face was hidden from view behind her hair.

“So… you’re going to get rid of the bodies?” she asked.

“Yeah, I got a plan,” he answered. Gators had worked before, so it was legit enough sounding, not that he intended to waste perfectly good bodies. She cleared her throat and swiped some hair behind her ears, though it fell back forward again.

“But what if you get pulled over?”

Lucas shrugged and leaned against the door, studying her closely. Was the regret kicking in now?

“I won’t,” he answered, feeling mildly annoyed. Not so much with her, though she did factor into it. He wasn’t used to having to answer all these questions. He was half tempted just to tell her everything and get that fear reaction he’d been denied earlier.

“But what if you do? You’ve got blood on you.”

“The fuck d’you care?” Lucas asked, maybe a little sharper than he meant to. “This ain’tcher problem no more, sweetheart, just forget about it.”

He turned away from her and stared out his side window at the dark parking lot. It was after midnight, now, maybe even closer to 1 in the morning, and the neighborhood was silent. He didn’t know why he felt so fucking sensitive, but he was starting to regret giving her a ride. It would have been sweet fucking irony if he’d turned her away when she asked again, maybe even worth missing out on that road head.

Why’d girls have to complicate shit so much? She sniffed and Lucas looked at her again, wondering if he’d made her cry. She was peeking at him around her curtain of hair. What the fuck was she looking at?

“Maybe you oughtta take a shower first. Before you drive anywhere else.”

Lucas was at a complete loss for words or thoughts. Like his brain had shut down in shock and had to restart itself and wasn’t quite back online yet.

“What?” he uttered stupidly. He didn’t know if she’d just implied that he smelled bad, or if she was coming onto him.

She tucked the hair behind her ears again and looked down at her hands, which were knitting together.

“You wanna uh… come in? I mean, to use my shower?”

Lucas’s throat worked noiselessly.

His eyes fell on her nearly bare legs, and felt something stir and flutter in the pit of his stomach. The monster, sated by the dead bikers, was starting to rouse again. He didn’t know what would happen if he took her up on her offer, but guaranteed it probably wouldn’t be good.

“Yea, sure,” he heard himself say, and then with a dark chuckle, “them bodies ain’t goin nowhere.”

### Delilah

Lucas climbed up to the truck bed to check that the bodies were hidden well enough, and as Lilah watched him creep around back there, hunched over like some creature from a horror movie, she wondered if she'd join the dead men before the night was through. From the moment she'd gotten into the car with him, a trembling had rooted itself in the base of her spine and hadn't left. It had only gotten worse, in fact. She'd hoped that blowing him would alleviate it, but somehow it had only made it more intense, to the point that she’d started taking care of her growing problem.

Despite the cola, she still tasted his cum, how the salty chemical bitterness of regular semen had mingled with a strange earthy flavor. It reminded her of the time she'd accidentally bitten into a piece of moldy bread. And while that should have put her off and made her retch it up, her throat had taken it down without issue. It was because of _him_. The musky male odor of his dick, the way he trembled and groaned when she sucked it, the way he touched her head so carefully right up until he came, when he’d gripped it tight.

She unlocked her front door after a few tries -her hands were shaking so badly the key missed the hole more than once. She turned the doorknob, aware that he was standing right behind her, and then a hand touched her hair lightly. Shivers cascaded down her spine.

She pushed the door open, trying to think of anything but the ache between her thighs.

She told herself that offering him the use of her shower was the least she could do after what he'd done for her. He'd killed for her. No one had ever done anything like that.

The sounds of the assault, weapon striking unprotected skin and bone, would never leave her. Neither would Lucas’s vocal enjoyment while committing the act. What was most troubling, though, was how little it troubled her.

By inviting him in, she felt like she’d broken some imaginary barrier between her and the danger he posed. Lucas wasn’t some tough guy with a mohawk and cigarette burn scars. He was real.

She reached for the light, and even though she knew he was standing there, she was startled to see his hooded shape silhouetted in the open doorway.

He walked in, and she hit the switch.

In full light, the sharp angles of his face forced his sallow skin and deep shadows into severe contrast. There was a smear of blood around his mouth from when he’d gotten punched, and had tried to wipe it off. What she didn’t see was a single bruise or cut. Eerie blue eyes regarded her for a second before he walked past.

Delilah’s focus was locked on the sight of him moving around in her home for a second when she realized he’d left the front door wide open. She shut it, but hesitated for a moment before locking it, as if doing so somehow made this situation more dangerous.

The bathroom door, off the living room area behind the couch, was open, and he walked toward it. But then he stopped and turned slowly back to face her.

“Ya ain’t gonna call the cops while I’m in there, are ya?” he asked. Delilah’s heart jumped into her throat, because even though he’d asked it calmly, the unspoken threat was there. She fished around in the pocket of her big hoodie and pulled out her cellphone. She showed him the screen, shattered and in pieces from when it had dropped on the floor in front of the stage and got immediately crushed by someone’s boot. His eyes fell on it, and she swore she saw his mouth quirk. Now he knew what she’d already known, that she was alone and without a line to the outside world.

Lucas turned away and turned on the light inside the bathroom. It was like she'd let a wild animal into her home, and she didn’t want to take her eyes off of him. So she watched him through the doorway as he took in the sight of her clean bathroom with curiosity. He unzipped his hoodie. He was wearing a tee shirt underneath, plain blue, nondescript. She could see in the light now that blood had spattered down the side of his khakis as well. And though he’d worn gloves to pick up the bodies, his hands underneath were still stained with blood from the initial attack.

He didn’t take off his hoodie, but he seemed interested in his reflection in the bathroom mirror, keeping his eyes on it as he pulled down his hood. He turned on the water and, bending his long body over the sink, splashed his lower face with his bloody hands. And then, as if noticing they were dirty, he pursed his lips and pumped a couple of globs of soap into his cupped palm. He started washing them under the running water. Pink soapy water sloshed over the side of the basin and onto her floor, but she didn’t really notice. She was transfixed, watching him wash the blood off himself.

“You gonna just stand there and stare, Delilah?” he asked. She flushed hot.

“Yeah,” she said. He snorted and gave her a sideways look.

“Suit yerself.”

Lucas shrugged off his hoodie and piled it on the closed toilet seat opposite the sink. Something heavy in the pocket clunked against the lid. His arms were long, with bony elbows and wrists, but there was wiry strength in the vein-ridged forearms and the slight bulge in his biceps. He peeled his shirt off over his head and dropped it on top of his hoodie. His upper body was lean and thin, but as with his arms, there was muscle under the pale skin, and not an ounce of apparent fat.

Delilah’s hands clutched at her hoodie as if they needed to hold onto something.

When his hands went to his fly, he turned his face to her with a strange half-smile on his mouth. His eyes were fixed on her face, unblinking as he unbuttoned his khakis and tugged down the zipper. He kicked off his shoes as he did this. The pants dropped, and underneath, he was completely naked.

Her hands twisted in her hoodie fabric. Lucas disregarded her once more, unashamed of the erection jutting at an angle from his body, as he turned to the shower against the back wall of the bathroom. He pulled the curtains open to find the faucet. Delilah was fascinated by the way his spine stood out from his body.

He turned the water on. She took a couple steps toward the bathroom. He stepped into the tub under the hot water, and no longer paying her any attention, he tugged the curtain half shut so his backside was still showing, bending his tall body down slightly so the spray would hit his face.

Delilah walked up to the bathroom door, caught his eyes for a brief second, before she reached in and pulled the door shut, separating them.

She breathed, for the first time all night, resting her forehead against the door. Her entire body was shaking. And even though she knew most of the slickness sliding between her cunt lips and the maxi pad in her underwear was blood, at least some of it was because of how aroused she was by him and how legitimately dangerous he was.

This might be how she died, she thought.

Or, when he was done washing the blood off, he would take his things and leave. She would never have to worry about the bodies, and she could pretend none of this had ever happened.

The bedroom was next door to the bathroom. She went in there now and turned on the light. She unzipped her boots and put them in her closet. She looked around her room, feeling a little bit like she was dreaming.

She didn’t really know what to do with herself.

So she sat on the end of her bed, knitting her hands together, and waited.

### Lucas

He thought it was funny when she shut the door, but he let her do it, if it made her feel better. It didn’t matter, and both of them knew it.

As the hot water washed over him, the first time he’d had an actual hot shower since it got cut off at home two years ago, Lucas looked at the various bottles and tubes adorning the shelf inside her shower. He picked them up one at a time and smelled them. The soft, floral scents were girly, but not unpleasant. He recognized the scent in her shampoo, what he’d smelled on her hair when she was standing at her door. She hadn’t reacted in revulsion. She’d let him in.

Horrific things went through Lucas’s head. Things he couldn’t help but think, because even though he was his own man, the darkness still whispered at him, reminded him what he was capable of. And now, with this pretty little girl handing herself to him on a fucking platter… whatever happened now wasn’t really his fault.

But that was the darkness talking. Lucas knew better. He wasn’t an animal, not anymore. Whatever he did, he’d do with full control. Didn’t mean he didn’t like some of the shit his brain was conjuring. Half sex, half unrepentant violence, all nearly on equal footing as far as the way it made his stomach tense with sweet anticipation. She’d willingly let him in, knowing there was no way out for her if things took a bad turn. So many possibilities, so many ways this night could end.

He was eager, but patient. He knew payoff was so much better after being made to wait for it.

He picked up another bottle, flipped open the lid, and took a long, deep breath of the smell of it. Conditioner, must be why her hair was so soft. He squeezed a little into his palm. With the hot water hitting the top of his head, he leaned one forearm against the wall and stroked the creamy liquid along the length of his dick slowly, thinking about her pretty face and her hand between her legs.

He’d like a taste of her pussy. He didn’t know what was stopping her from letting him, it was plain she wanted it. He’d seen enough to know how to do it, theoretically anyway. He’d practiced a little even, back before the serum gave him back his brain. Not like the dead girls were able to appreciate his efforts, but after looking at anatomy books, Lucas had wanted to see for himself. And then, with no one to stop him or tell him it was wrong, he’d wanted a little more.

Either no one knew, or no one cared. After the dose, Lucas had stopped visiting the morgue of his own volition. He hadn’t been in his right mind at the time, worse than usual anyway, but what was done was done, and he couldn’t undo it. He was too fucked up by now to really care.

All he knew is he wanted a live one, even then he would have preferred it if he’d had the option. Now though, he had one waiting for him, and he was pretty sure she was sweet on him. He would take his time in the shower, take care of the way she made him so fucking hard. He didn’t want to end too quickly, like he had in the car. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible, really _romance_ her like she deserved.

He started to stroke his cock, sliding his fist to the end, lubricated by her hair conditioner, then back to his balls, smearing the cream in every crease to get it nice and clean. His dick had never smelled like flowers before. Maybe she’d be so impressed she’d go down on him again. A dark image of him fucking down into her mouth so hard she couldn’t breathe flashed in his head, but he didn’t know if it came from him or from the monster. Hard to tell, though usually there was more blood if it was the latter. He chewed on his lip and squeezed, tried to force nicer thoughts to crowd out the other ones.

He resumed stroking when he tried to imagine how she’d look riding him. He had enough titty films to draw the imagery from, and she’d look so cute with her hair all fallin in her face. In this scenario, she was smiling with that pretty mouth, chipped tooth and all. It was a sweet picture, and it made his stomach flutter.

The pressure behind his balls was heightening. Now she was rocking those hips and throwing her head back, hair cascading over her back, breasts jiggling. In his mind, in that moment of vulnerability, that was when he took a knife and cut her belly open to see what his dick looked like moving inside.

“Fuck,” he hissed, forcing himself back into the present with disgust writhing in his belly. The hot water was starting to run out. The intrusive thoughts of sexual violence had ruined his attempt, and now his boner was starting to go soft. He’d been in there too long, and he still hadn’t gotten off. Too much happening in one night, the monster was too close to the surface.

It had gotten its taste of violence, and instead of leaving him alone, it wanted to close the evening with more bloodshed, and it would make him fucking miserable until it was satisfied.

Somehow, even now, Eveline’s gift managed to find ways to ruin his nights to himself.

Maybe he oughtta just fuck off. Go home, leave the poor girl alone. She had no idea what he was, or what he was capable of. Even if she wanted it, she didn’t really know how far he could go. He could stay the hero in her mind. Maybe if he didn’t ruin it, she’d get off thinking about him later, alone and safe in her room.

It wasn’t a satisfying conclusion, but Lucas figured he’d make up for it another time by doing violence to some other hapless fuck that wandered onto their property. Actually, he felt pretty good about the decision once he’d made it. Once he'd gotten it in his mind that he was the bad guy, he had accepted the role with relish. But the idea that maybe, just maybe he didn’t _have_ to be such a fucking asshole all the time, was weirdly satisfying in a way he wasn’t used to.

Lucas rinsed off his now soft dick and turned off the water before it went totally cold.

He thought about grabbing a clean towel off the rack, but chose instead to take one that was obviously used, having decided he was okay with occupying more of a murky grey area rather than trying to be perfect. He dried off his head first, and then buried his face in it, breathing the smell of her deep. There was something more than just the scent of shampoo. It was her clean skin, from every part of her. Even… he felt a sweet, guilty twist in his stomach when he eyed the towel, searching for anything of her, a hair, a pube, whatever.

It was clean. Except there, in the middle. A faint spot of pink. Lucas looked himself over, but the blood from the killings was gone. It wasn’t his. Curious, he brought the spot to his nose and sniffed.

Blood. Pussy blood.

It felt like a cord embedded under his skin between his collarbones and dick was drawn tight, because a delicious sort of tension pierced him and he curled forward. He sucked in greedy gasps of the elusive smell, stuck his tongue out to lick the spot, then put his mouth on it. Saliva pooled under his tongue, and he forcefully sucked every trace of the stain out of the terrycloth threads. So faint, not enough. He looked down at the towel, now wet with his spit, for any more of the precious substance.

He felt like he was drugged, or high.

His heart was pounding, now, and he felt wobbly and unbalanced. He tried to shake himself out of it and continued drying himself, fully aware of the wet spot where his mouth had been, and thinking of the part of her body that had touched it and left that faint pink imprint.

He was hard again, but more than that, the monster was making his skin feel tight and ill-fitting. With a sick lurch in his guts, he realized that he might not be able to make it out of this with his budding morals intact. He always had impulse control problems, even before. But now, it was so much worse, with all that extra shit filling him up, making him feel invincible, untouchable. The gift had carved a direct line to something primal, barely human. He usually kept it well on a leash, but he’d never been in this sort of situation before.

There was still a chance. He hadn’t done anything yet.

Put your clothes on, he thought to himself. Don’t say a word to her, go out to your truck, and leave. Just drive away. Don’t fucking look back, and definitely don’t keep tabs on her. That last one made him smirk because it was a little unrealistic that he’d be able to stick with it. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, but the fact was, she needed to be alive for it.

But that smell on the towel, the mark… the darkness wasn’t going to let him leave so easily. It just wanted a little more, just an innocent little reward for good behavior. His eyes roamed around the bathroom, looking for a memento, something he could take with him. Lucas’s eyes landed on the small trash can crammed between the base of her toilet and the side of the bathtub. Curious if there was anything embarrassing in there, he bent over and picked it up, grinning at his own indecency.

Like some kind of giant hairless raccoon, he started digging through it. More of that mouthwatering scent hit him in the back of his nose, and the hand holding the can dented the metal when an involuntary shudder went through him.

His fingers found a bundle of toilet paper. He dropped the trashcan upright on the bath mat and carefully unrolled the wad.

Red stained the inner layers, and like a kid on christmas who’d already peeked, the prize he’d expected was revealed.

A tampon, partly saturated with brownish red blood lay nestled in the center. It was still fairly fresh, maybe from earlier that day. The smell was concentrated. It was not flower-scented like the rest of her, but every subtle note hit him hard and sank deep. Some saliva leaked out the side of his mouth and he absently swiped it away. With hands shaking, he brought the discarded item to his mouth and tasted it.

Iron. And pussy. So sweet, he let himself lick it again, and then he was sucking on it, trying to draw as much of that bodily essence out of the absorbent cotton wad. It was old, but completely infused with _her_. He let the taste of her insides roll down the back of his tongue, washed with his spit down his throat where it made heat spread in his chest.

His dick twitched hopefully, and to alleviate it, he pulled on it a couple of times. But he didn’t just want to jack off anymore, it wasn’t going to be enough. He felt a pang of regret, maybe grief, for the version of him that had done as he meant to, the version that had just walked away and left her alone. That Lucas was dead. This Lucas had already made the choice.

### Delilah

She heard when the shower turned off. A painful mix of fear and terrible excitement washed through her as she waited for him to make the next move. Minutes passed. She considered escape routes, her bedroom window, or any other window in the main room if she was out there.

She considered defenses; firearms violated her probation, so she didn’t have one, but she toed the line anyway with her knife, tucked between her mattress and box springs. It was a real weapon, a bayonet from a Gulf War M16. She didn’t have the rifle, that had belonged to her uncle, but the spear-point tip and half-sharpened edge was deadly enough on its own.

She heard sound on the other side of her bedroom door. It was the bathroom door opening. Her heart leaped into her throat. Would he leave?

As if hearing her mental question, his voice came from the next room, singsong and teasing.

“De-liiii-lah… Are you hidin’ from me?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She struggled to answer, her brain going through every response.

“No,” she answered finally, swallowing the lump. Her hands clenched the front corner of her bedspread.

Seconds later, she heard the doorknob jiggle, and fear flashed hot, but it was locked. One of those simple pushpin locks. Something pressed against the other side of the door near the top. His forehead. Fuck, he was tall.

“Ya shure you ain’t hidin’? Seems like it to me.”

“You should go, before anyone sees the truck,” she answered. She heard a soft, breathy chuckle through the door.

“No one’s awake, Lilah. It’s jus’ _you_ an’ _me_ ,” he answered. Some quality in his tone sent chills down her spine. She pressed her thighs together and squirmed. She was sure he could hear her breathing from out there.

“You should go, Lucas,” she repeated.

“Ain’tcha gonna come out here and say goodbye?”

Delilah had the urge to get up and do just that. But then she had the thought that maybe she should get the knife first, because it would be stupid to go anywhere near him without it at this point. But then she thought that if he saw a weapon, it might be what provoked him. So she couldn’t get the knife, and she couldn’t unlock the door without any kind of weapon, so she ended up sitting right where she was, unable to find the words to stall him, or get him to leave.

When she didn’t answer, she heard subtle sounds of him walking away from the other side of the door. For an agonizing moment, there was silence. She knew he was still in the house, though, because the front door hadn’t been opened.

Seconds later, there came small sounds of metal bumping metal. The doorlock peg was moving. The lock was barely useful, there was a hole on the other side that could be accessed by something long and thin, like a paperclip. Or a bobby pin. It was meant as a basic privacy measure, not to keep actual dangers out.

It didn’t take him long. Delilah pushed herself back, away from the edge of the bed, fully set on going for the bayonet. The knob turned, and then the door pushed open.

Lucas stood there with a bent bobby pin in hand, his eyes on her the moment she was visible. The sight of him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

He was completely naked, and his dick was half-hard. She wondered if it was always at a state of semi-arousal.

“I thought about breaking yer door down, but I didn’t want ya screamin’ and wakin’ up all the neighbors,” he said, dropping his eyes to the brown glass bottle in his hands, and the folded cloth. He was absently running the tip of his tongue along his upper teeth.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she asked, inching back. He met her eyes again.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve invited me in,” he said, giving her an admonishing look, fiddling with the bottle. He hadn’t answered her question.

“I know,” she answered. Her teeth started chattering, but she clamped them shut.

“What’d ya think was gonna happen?” he asked.

“I thought… maybe…” she trailed off when she couldn’t find the words to explain what she thought would happen. She caught herself looking at his dick.

“You thought what, exactly?” he asked, making her eyes snap back up. He was watching her face, and he knew full well what she’d been looking at. Delilah thought about the thrill of watching him enact violence. She’d been riding that high when she went down on him, and when she’d invited him back. She hadn’t thought beyond chasing that feeling.

“I don’t fucking know. I guess… I like you.”

His brows shot up, and he let out a startled laugh.

“Ya _like_ me? The fuck’s wrong with you?” he asked, standing naked in her bedroom door and fingering a bottle of what she was sure by now was chloroform.

“I have no idea,” she answered honestly. Lucas smirked, and then his eyes dropped to her lips, her breasts, and then lingered on the place where her thighs met her crotch.

“Jus’ what am I s’posed to do with that?” he asked, rolling a cold stare back up to her face. He stepped into the room.

“I’m on the rag,” she blurted, backing up to get away from him and within reach of the knife when he started to close the distance between them. She could feel her pulse hammering in her head and between her legs.

“Yeah,” he said from the end of her bed, swallowing thickly. “I know.”

Heat gathered on her neck and cheeks. Most guys wouldn’t come near it, some were even stupid enough to fall for it more than once a month. It was plain that Lucas was an entirely different animal.

He got on his hands and knees on the bed and started crawling toward her. Delilah scrabbled back and felt for the handle of the bayonet. Lucas’s empty hand grabbed her ankle. She kicked him in the face and reached for the blade handle, sticking out between the mattress and box springs.

“C’mon now, I ain’t gonna hurtcha… I jus’ want a lil taste…” he said, rough and throaty.

Lucas creeped up over her, long limbs bent in an awkward crouch, dick herdening between his legs, hand still clutching the brown bottle, and she wrenched the bayonet blade out of its sheath. Its spear-tip point dimpled the hollow of his right cheek, and he stopped. He hovered there above her with a keen glint in his eye, licked his lips, and smirked.

“That’s it... you jus’ do whatever you gotta do, Lilah... I’ll take care o’ the rest.”

Her hand was shaking but she didn’t waver with the bayonet. She didn’t stop him, either, when he set the brown bottle aside and started to push her black denim skirt up her thighs until it sat bunched around her waist. His eyes jumped between her face and the newly revealed skin.

He touched her crotch through her underwear, nudging the black fabric with his knuckles. Her pad made it stiffer, but Lucas just did it harder and made a quiet noise in his throat, completely unconcerned by the knife. Her hand wasn’t steady, and the point pierced his skin. A drop of dark red welled and rolled down.

“Sorry, but I gotta borrow this,” he said. He closed his hand around the one holding the knife, and pulled her entire upper body forward. His hand was large enough to encompass hers, and strong enough that she couldn’t jerk her hand out of his grip. He pulled the waistband of her underwear and fishnet stockings away from her skin, and using her own knife, cut through the elastic and one leg of the thin fabric with ease. He let go of her knife hand and Lilah fell back on her elbow, staring at him wide-eyed and a little paralyzed.

The blade was less of a comfort now. He nudged her thighs apart with his bare knees. He ran his hands along the inside skin, crisscrossed with the material of her tights. His touch rooted itself down to her marrow, and sank heavily between her legs.

Every breath whistled loud through his nostrils as he lowered himself. Hunching his back, he brought his face to her crotch. Was he even aware of the sounds he was making? She almost dropped the knife when he nuzzled his face against her. He tangled his fingers in the fishnet and ripped it open at the crotch seam. Slowly, he peeled back the front of her underwear.

Delilah’s stomach flipped. She didn’t have a chance to catch up to what was happening, what she was letting happen, until she heard his teeth chatter. That sound sent ice through her veins; he sounded like a rabid animal. She caught a glimpse of his face looking up at her, saliva pooling in his bottom lip and spilling from his crooked grin, eyes keen and unnatural before he buried his mouth and nose between her legs.

His tongue lapped against her skin, lips pursing and sucking, pulling at every fold and crease. His teeth came dangerously close to nipping, but she pushed herself up, jabbed the tip of the blade against his forehead. In answer, he pulled back on the teeth a bit and rolled his tongue against her clit. Her hips jerked. She let her body fall back on the bed.

She spread her thighs wide for him, forgetting her intentions to keep him at the end of a weapon. The bayonet arm fell to the side and her other hand clasped the top of his bristly head, pushed him down into her.

Lucas glutted himself on her pussy, blood and all. When she saw him, his face was smeared with red, and darker clots. He looked like a hyena tearing out the stomach of a dead zebra on a nature show, and acted just as uncaring of the mess.

He was more concerned with satiating himself than pleasing her. Despite his artlessness, his ravenous mouth was igniting her sensitive nerve endings and drawing her as tight as a bowstring. Before she knew it, he’d hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her tight to his face so his tongue could push into her more deeply, and her hips were twisting against him.

### Lucas

It wasn’t enough. He was a starving carnivore and she was hot, raw meat. Steak tartar, juicy and potent like an artisan cut. He’d nearly licked her outside clean, but he could strain his tongue deep and feel that there was more he couldn’t reach.

He came close to biting, but it was the ache in his jaw, a side effect of his selfish need to keep her in one piece and mewling like a kitten, that stopped him. Delilah, sweet Delilah, and her sweet noises, and her sweet, sweet pussy.

He sucked against her hole, felt his dick bob against the bedspread, hanging heavy and swollen and neglected, balls tender and tight. He’d just wanted a taste, but it wasn’t going to satisfy him. He looked at the bayonet clutched in her hand, limp on the bed. She wasn’t scared anymore. Not very smart.

Lucas broke to breathe, nearly forgot in his quest to devour her, and then brought one of his hands around. He watched her face, watched her watching him with an unmistakable tinge of horror that made his dick harder. No doubt he looked like a fucking apex predator after a kill. He liked that mental image of himself. He licked around his mouth, and all he tasted was her. Despite her automatic revulsion, she made a little impatient whimper. So he stroked his finger around her wet folds, and slipped it inside her tight warmth.

Lucas’s eyes rolled back for the sensation of her soft, hot walls crowding close around his digit, the slight twitch of muscle tightening either to keep him out or to keep him in, he wasn’t sure. He slid his finger to the back, felt the small mound of her cervix and the abundant squish of fluids and thicker bits, honey at the bottom of the jar. He hooked his finger and dragged it against the ridged inner wall as he drew it out, reveling in the way her pussy felt, like exposed organs, never meant to be touched by hands. What he was doing must’ve felt good because her head fell back, thighs straining open as she groaned. That sound was like an electric shock to his cock.

His finger was coated in red, thick and dark. He didn’t think past the fact that he wanted to feel it on his skin, and like that he was dragging it down his chin, smearing lines of sticky crimson over his throat and chest like war paint. It wasn’t just blood, either. He knew enough to recognize clear pussy juice. Delilah was enjoying this almost as much as he was. It was unbelievable, impossible, but the proof was sweet and slick on his lips.

He put his mouth on her again, focusing on her clit, this time in concert with his finger. He dipped into her fleshy well, pumped a couple of times while hooking against her like he did before, making her feel good sure, but also gathering more of the grisly nectar. He slipped in a second finger, revelling in the fascination of the way she tightened around him. He wanted to sink his cock into her, feel her gripping him like that. For now, he settled on fingering her.

He pulled his hand out and looked at it. Blood and bits of her insides stained the creases of his fingers and palm, and that clear liquid glistened between his fingers, viscous and shining. Lucas dragged his hand down his stomach and grabbed his cock. He spread it all over and, using her fluids as lube, started to pump. He began eating her again, sucking at her hole where more blood was already starting to well.

It was surreal. Here he was, jacking off and playing with her insides like an autopsy surgeon, just scooping the gore out of her cunt with his fingers and tongue, and she was just grinding against his mouth, just eating it the fuck up. When her head wasn’t thrown back, he could see her eyes pinched shut. Her little clitty was pink and swollen, so he kept licking it, and she kept making little sounds with every breath.

This surpassed the visceral pleasure he got from torture. Her noises were so much more gratifying than the screams, and the crying, and the cussing. As he squeezed along the length of his cock, swiping his palm over the head, using her blood and pussy juice to help his hand glide, Lucas had to admit that this was singularly the most fucked up thing he’d ever seen, or done. _Which said a fucking lot_.

Because there was blood everywhere… but not like he’d seen before. It was sucked clean from the outside of her pussy, but smeared on her inner thighs and her lower belly. His hands were stained red, as from a stabbing. Tiny clots and globs of her insides were all over his fingers and under his nails, but she was _alive_ , and she wasn’t in pain. He pushed his tongue back into her and watched the keen awareness that had been with her all night leave her unfocused eyes.

Nothing would ever measure up to this.

To have a girl like her laying spread wide like this, all red and juicy, and open. In one piece but just completely fucking falling apart, it was a fever dream conjured in his darkest moments, but here she was, defying all the malicious urges that twisted his dark heart.

He stopped stroking his cock to shove his fingers back inside of her. She jerked and writhed, and then she pulled her heels up, bending her knees, and giving him an uninterrupted view of that shiny pink.

He tried a little harder, testing. When he hammered her with his index and middle finger, it sounded just like tenderizing a juicy steak. She was panting, her hair was spread out in a frizzy mess. Her eyes were slits, and her mouth was a pouty gasp, and a smile.

He thought he could probably die right now and it'd be a sweet way to go. He eyed Lilah’s health insurance, the blade that was still clutched loosely in her hand. He could do it, maybe cutting off his head would be what it took. Eveline would be pissed, though. He almost wanted to do it now out of spite… but he wasn’t done with Lilah yet, not by a long shot.

### Delilah

Delilah gripped the knife in her hand as Lucas finger fucked her inside out, and with the heat and pressure mounting in her spine and aching in her hips, she brought the knife point to his nose.

Lucas’s eyes shot wide, with something like disbelief and excitement on his bloody face.

“Fuck me,” she said, managing a firm tone despite her breathlessness. Lucas grinned and, weirdly, some of the gleeful incredulity softened to something more recognizable.

“You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he growled against her spread crotch. And then, with a subtle tremor, “you gonna stick that knife in me?”

“Maybe,” she said. She wasn't opposed to a little knife play, though Lucas’s choice of words had felt more significant than fulfilling a kink of his.

Lucas pulled himself over her. His face was sticky with red, and his breath smelled like blood. His narrow chest shuddered with his breaths. His eyes were blasted wide, almost feverish as he seized his bloody dick in his fist. She peered down between them to watch him guide it between her legs. Pearly fluid oozed out the hole at the end, and Lucas smeared this around her vulva, nudging her throbbing clit, before sliding it home.

His eyes pitched back and he groaned. He pushed it into her hard, like his body was moving of its own volition. It hurt, the way he stretched her open, but it also fulfilled a deep aching need, and she wanted more. He filled her, forcing the lingering menstrual blood out of her hole with wet noises that made her teeth itch.

He slid his hand under her top and her bra, leaving a thin smear of blood on her skin, before clutching her bare breast like an anchor. And then he started to ram her. It was so deep, she felt it in her lungs, like the air was being pummeled out of her.

Lucas fucked her like he’d beaten those bikers to death, blunt and unrestrained, and the sound of his hips pounding her was so familiar. She thought of that sound of iron smashing against bone, crunching cartilage, and then wet flesh.

Each thrust bottomed out, hitting her back wall and jarring her insides. She threw her arm around the back of his neck for something to hold onto. Piercing her with his eyes, Lucas grinned, and swallowed his spit before suddenly closing his mouth on hers.

He tasted like blood, and his tongue was long enough to nearly gag her. He devoured her mouth like he’d eaten her pussy, like a starving cannibal.

He fucked into her harder, swallowing her noises, slamming the headboard against the wall. Each impact ratcheted up the intensity until she didn’t feel anything else but the place when their bodies converged.

He pushed his hand between them, started rubbing her clit, and now his artlessness didn’t matter because that added sensation was all it took.

Hot, chaotic waves hit her like a freight train. He didn’t slow throughout her orgasm, and the noises coming out of his open mouth were that of coarse bliss, like the convulsions of her muscles were ripping something savage out of him, or excising a dark presence.

Lucas said something, like ‘kill me now,’ but Lilah was too wrapped up in the way his cock worked into her to process.

“Fuck,” he whined, and with a shudder, he came with his cockhead lodged as deep as physically possible. His shaft throbbed in time with his racing pulse, shooting hot spurts against her inner walls.

Delilah lay there with his body resting on top of her, dazed, as the last twitches of his cock petered out.

Both were panting, Lucas with his face down in the mattress beside her head, her staring up at her ceiling through a veil of tousled hair. His heartbeat felt like a bird, fluttering against the bars of its cage.

### Lucas

Lucas could have stayed right there, buried in her, forever. He could die there inside of her. Would have liked to, but she didn’t seem to get what he’d been asking her to do. No problem. She was fucked up, for sure, but not as bad as him it seemed.

“You’re gonna need another shower,” she said underneath him, her arms still hooked around his neck. Her eyes were cracked open, her blood-smudged lips parted as she caught her breath. Maybe she didn’t want him to move either. He was pretty sure he’d blown her fuckin’ mind.

“Nah, I ain’t ever washin’ myself again,” he said with a chuckle, then laughed doubly at her sound of disgust. She pushed him off of her finally and he obliged, pulling his softening dick out and laying bonelessly next to her. The cum on his dick, and leaking out of her onto the pad still stuck to her underwear, was pink and streaked with red. He liked how it looked, and how she looked. Sweaty and used, desecrated and smeared with her own fluids, like a crime scene.

He knew he was probably worse. He’d kind of lost his mind there for a minute or two. For once, in all his experience since the big storm, the monster and him had been in concert. He felt… calm.

It was a startling realization. He didn’t know the last time he’d felt like this, all lazy and contented.

“You wanna get some waffles?” he asked, thinking about his empty stomach and the impulse he’d had earlier in the evening to take her out. Maybe now it’d be more fitting, with how close they’d become. She turned her head to the side to look at him like he was crazy, a familiar look. Her bangs were tousled and he could see the hint of a horizontal scar in the center of her forehead. Another little feature, like her chipped tooth, that he found very becoming.

“You planning to drive us there with those bikers in the back?” she asked. Oh, right. Lucas had nearly forgot about them.

“Nah… guess not… maybe another time, then.”

She kept looking at him for a moment before pushing herself up. Lucas took it as his cue to get up too. Her room was clean and neat everywhere but the bed, which looked like it had been pushed a little crooked. The bedspread, a pattern of white and green leaves, was twisted and stained, now, and Lucas was kind of proud for his contribution of chaos to her ordered world.

The bottle of chloroform was still on the bed, half covered by a fold of the comforter, and Lucas picked it up now. She paused in adjusting her clothes to watch.

“Were you going to use that on me?” she asked. Lucas glanced up at her, not sure how much he should tell her. He still had to get his shit together before he left, maybe wash most of the visible blood off, so it was probably wise to be tactful.

“Yeah,” he said. Her mouth tightened into a line, and she looked down as she pulled her skirt back down to cover her thighs. He cleared his throat and stood up with a stretch.  “But only if you’d started screamin’ an’ I had to knock ya out to get away.”

She didn’t seem totally happy about that, but she wasn’t so worried looking anymore.

It was partly true. Lucas wouldn’t tell her how glad he was that things had turned out the way they did. He wouldn’t’ve fucked her knocked out like that, which is probably what she thought. (he was a murderer, not a fuckin’ rapist, he had standards), but he wouldn’t’ve killed her either, at that point. She would’ve made it out of this alive either way. What he wasn’t so sure about is whether he would’ve been able to deny himself that little taste he’d wanted, even if she was unconscious. Better not to know.

Lilah went over to her drawer, holding her broken underwear on herself as she pulled out a fresh pair of panties. Lucas watched her peel off her ruined fishnets for a moment, enjoying the view, before he decided he’d best get his shit together.

His clothes were still stained with the violence from earlier in the evening. His hoodie was dark enough to hide the obvious blood, but his khakis were a different matter. Though he managed to get off the bigger chunks in her sink, making a satisfying mess in her little bathroom in the process, the rest would have to be boiled out when he did his laundry later.

He pocketed her used tampon, rewrapped in toilet paper, before he went back into the main room.

Coffee percolated on the counter by her fridge and Delilah was sitting at the kitchen table, shredding a paper napkin in her hands. She’d changed out of her clothes from the club, and was now wearing a pair of pajama pants and her black patched hoodie. Her eyes were distant.

“I’ve never done any o’ that,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. Lucas smirked, assuming she meant the murder.

“Yer a fuckin’ natural.” She gave him a bemused expression, which told him maybe she’d been talking about the road head and sex too, but then her mouth quirked in a slight smile that made his stomach flutter..

“Where’d you come from?” she asked, suddenly serious. She had a real piercing stare, when she wanted to. Lucas shrugged and pulled up his hood, fingering the truck keys in his pocket.

“Hell,” he answered without irony or humor. His answer hung in the air. She looked like she believed him. Good. “Speakin’ of… I hate to eat n’ run, but I best be gettin’ back there. The Devil don’t like to be kept waitin’.”

He savored the way the color came to her cheeks, and that little glint of fear in her dark eyes and took his cue. He unlocked her front door and opened it.

“Wait,” she said. Lucas stopped and turned back, his immediate thought being that she wanted another go. The napkin was now laying in a soft pile on top of the table. “I ain’t gonna see you again… right?”

Lucas’s stomach tightened and a vicious sort of pleasure sank deep.

“Bye, Delilah,” he said. She was sitting speechless at her table when he left. So cute.

Lucas was in high spirits as he made his way back to the truck. He had to shoo away a stray dog investigating the truck bed before he hopped in, but his mind was already starting to move ahead to what he’d have to do when he got back. He felt more optimistic than he had as far back as he could remember, and even looked forward to seeing his family again. Eveline would lose her little mind over new toys, and Marguerite would be happy to have some fresh meat. Maybe he’d even offer to help Jack process them.

He watched her neighborhood disappear in the rear view, checked that the bodies were still covered, and started to whistle.

Maybe in a month or two, when she’d started to forget, he’d pay sweet little Delilah a visit, just to check up on her. At least he had something to look forward to, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FancyLadySnackCakes for the idea, and the constant enthusiasm.  
> If you liked it, feel free to let me know ;)


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